Accident of Circumstance
by IamInferior
Summary: For when two vipers bite and twist, and justice lies mangled betwixt, a stirring sword in prince's palm is bitter balm for a sister's kiss.


**Author Notes: **Any similarities to current or future plot points in the fics of justonemoreartist are purely coincidental and were arrived at through independent thought processes.

You should check out her stories, though.

* * *

Twenty thousand men. He turned the number over and over again in his mind. Like a talisman, it was, a guiding omen ensuring success.

He scaled the steps towards the Palace. It was ancient and stately, built in far better times. The steps were massive, as if scaled for giants, and carved from purest marble. It was a long way to the top, the intent, probably, to exhaust any would be petitioner, perhaps dissuading them, or perhaps imprinting the incomparable vastness of His Majesty upon them, lest them step lightly in his hallowed halls. Yet he had seen past the facade.

For if he stepped small as a man, in spirit, he was, in truth, a titan, far exceeding any giant that ever walked the Earth. His boldness would make even the noblest thane blush and stutter. And so he scaled the steps, easily, slowly, with all the self-assured swagger of a man born to power.

Ironic, since he never had any. But soon enough, he would.

Twenty thousand men. The proportions were quite fine. In accordance with latest military doctrine, he had thirty-five hundred cavalry, the remainder being a mixture of infantry and artillery. He had two hundred guns, easily enough to reduce any fortress in Arendelle to rubble. He had cuirassiers and dragoons and hussars and all manner of death-quick men, all hardened by war and born to shed blood. His Guard was carefully selected, with Father's permission, from the finest men the Southern Isles had to offer. These were men that could laugh in the face of cannon, who made sabers sing more elegantly than the finest operas.

Forgiveness was not granted easily, but he always had a way of making things work. That was his talent, his knack, so-to-speak. No matter how quick the situation, he was quicker. He had a way of reading people, he thought-and thought rightly. It was a skill that could be as deadlier than muskets if applied properly.

The throne room was mostly red, with carpets colored dark as fine wine. The throne, standing distant, was crafted from gold, silver, and gems. Father was no doubt slumped on it, his aging form nearly buried under mounds of fine clothing. The throne towered over the room. It was twice as tall as a man, and elevated over the ground so that no man may place himself above the king.

Hans would have his own throne soon, one seized with fire and blood. Out through the window he gazed, setting his pensive eyes out over the bay, one hand removing the glove from the other.

* * *

As I will.

Make it so.

I command it.

All words that Elsa could and would not say. But she had to. She was absolutely sure of it. When she slept, she thought of it. When she ate, she thought of it. The looming Sword of Damocles over her reign-over every reign since time immemorial, she reminded herself-was hunger. Sallow cheeks and empty, hollowed eyes, with flies circling over. Children put to death to spare them the agony of starvation. It was a reality that always lurked, like some fel creature, just out of sight, just beyond the horizon, waiting, always waiting. Yet, in times past, they had avoided it.

But, of course, nothing could be avoided forever. Relations had deteriorated with the Southern Isles, to put things lightly. They had refused to punish Prince Hans sufficiently. When she had prodded them further, they had him shovel dung for a week or two. Now Arendelle was under embargo. A grim fate.

The land surveyors, long ago, had made clear Arendelle's fate. 1% arable land. A very clinical, dispassionate way of describing a harsh truth, one equally as harsh as the harsh lands. It made them utterly dependent on food imports. In most years, food composed 60% of their imports by value, and far, far more by weight. The irony lay in their vast fish exports. It, along with timber, were the primary supports of the economy. There were other minor products, of course, such as cobalt, silver, ice, and copper, but none could compare to fish and wood. Alas, man cannot live on fish alone.

The Southern Isles, on the other hand, were blessed beyond measure. The majority of its land was arable; it had the most fertile land in all of Europe. It was Europa's breadbasket, her soft hands willing bull and wheat to sprout from the soil-glacial, ironically enough-and it was a shame the Danes much preferred pigs to bulls. Of course, they would. No creature of nobility could stomach them. Only pigs, then, for the Danes.

Glacial soil. Elsa chuckled at the thought. God delighted in his little jokes and cruelties, did he not?

She was hesitating. Stalling. Hoping for a better solution to fall from the sky. But it wouldn't. It never would.

Thirty-nine weeks since she declared a state of emergency. Twenty-seven weeks since she declared martial law. Twenty-five weeks since she rounded up the Sami-dissidents were shot-and confiscated their herds. Twenty-two weeks since she had nationalized the larger farms. The husmenn were not pleased. The loudest of them were executed. Executed, not imprisoned. Prisoners had to eat too, and that was a luxury Arendelle could not afford. The prisons were now empty, save of ghosts.

All of this had been caused by her own fretting and prevaricating. If she had acted earlier, had acted decisively, all of this could have been prevented. But that was her problem, wasn't it? Always so afraid of being a villain that she forced herself into it. Forty-seven weeks of embargo. Forty-seven weeks where she could have made a difference. There was nothing to be done for that now.

There were no pets left in Arendelle.

No more options. Thirty weeks since diplomatic pressures had forced the British to stop their exports. Twenty-seven weeks since the last shipment from Austria. Their fields were now trampled by Hungarian nobles reenacting the adventures of their nomadic Magyar ancestors. Russia was far too unstable. Corona's grain now turned towards war. Corona had always been the more liberal of the two major German states, and it heard the call of great Frederick in the distance. Once again, the continent descended into war. Left versus Right, just as it was in Father's time. The Coronans had also departed their fields, mass conscripted into armies bearing the banner of the Sun. Even in middle age, Queen-Empress Rapunzel remained quite beautiful. She had accepted a husband from the gutter once, why not a crown? Everywhere, chaos reigned.

No point thinking of the past or of foreign lands.

She forced her hand down. She scratched out her name. It was done.

Mobilization orders. By tomorrow, they would reach every corner of Arendelle. Men would stream in, on boats, on trains, on carts, all bound, inexorably, to the capital, the lodestone rock calling them all forward.

Then outwards. Outwards and beyond.

Elsa closed her eyes and saw Persephone.

* * *

Anna stepped in, brushing back her own hair, cheeks flushed.

Elsa was still lost in her own thoughts. Anna crept up from behind.

"Surprise hug technique!" shouted Anna as she fell upon the hapless Elsa.

Elsa nearly jumped.

"Anna, what are you doing?" asked Elsa.

"Cheering Miss Grumpy Grumperton up. Come on, Elsa. Turn that frown upside down! Smile awhile and life's not a trial. A grin a day keeps sour Samuels away," said Anna.

"Anna, I'm not in the mood," said Elsa.

"Which is precisely why I ought to get you into the mood. Err, a good mood! Why did the chicken cross the road?" asked Anna.

"All the chickens are dead," said Elsa.

"Oooh, a non-sequitur," said Anna.

"I'm... not feeling up to jokes," said Elsa.

"Why?" asked Anna.

"I just signed mobilization orders," said Elsa.

"So?" said Anna.

Elsa sighed.

"I'm sending a lot of men to their deaths," said Elsa.

"But you have a good reason for it, right?" said Anna.

"I suppose," said Elsa.

"Then don't worry about it! I trust your judgment, so you should too," said Anna.

"Thanks," said Elsa.

Anna kissed her sister on the forehead.

"No problem. Don't doubt yourself, Elsa. You're a wonderful person and I know you try your hardest every day. Take it easy, okay?" said Anna.

Elsa nodded.

* * *

And it had all been interrupted by cannon.

It was one thing to know the theory, another thing to see the real thing.

In theory, it was all quite simple. When the cavalry come, form squares. Keep the men tightly packed, have the first rank kneel-the formation is immobile anyways. Hold fire until you can see the whites of their eyes; you only get one shot. Shoot early, and the cavalry overrun you. Lines are good for firing, columns for fast marching. Hold positions with volleyed fire, rush them with your columns. Thin the lines with fire, then set upon them with steel. Cannons rule the field, cannons are the king of the battlefield. Guard them well, and they shall reap the enemy like so much wheat.

And yet, he had not been ready. The thundering of cannons. Sword bite. Smoke, spreading in vast clouds. Screams, unending screams. Men torn apart, guts leaking into the streets. Eyeless men, legless men, armless men. A cannonball, a cannonball grazing him; so, so close, inches more and his leg would be gone, he would be bleeding out in the streets, he could see it vividly in his mind's eye, that would be the end of Hans Westergard, and who would mourn him? But no, it passed by, he soldiered on, his banner flying high, flying everywhere, bit by bit displacing the royal one, the other soldiers retreating-or worse-possibly worse-probably worse, no doubt they were all dead. And the city was burning and the sky was choked with ash and the streets flowed with blood and bile and yet.

And yet. Hans kept going. It was reflexive, his mind long having blanked out, lost in a flurry of blades and bullets. Only reflexes remained, training, no, instinct, that deadly atavism that lies at the heart of all men, that desire to kill lest ye be killed, that gut instinct burning, straining for survival. That was all that animated him, the red heat of the sun pressing down hard on his back, his body coated with matted sweat, dirt, and blood; especially blood, blood coated him, made him smell of copper and iron, slipped into his eyes and made them sting. Swing, swing, and swing again, up and down, back and forth, slice, cut, tear, rip, the steel plunging deep into a body and then back again. In and out. Call and response. Reply. Retort. All he knew was the urge to live.

He looked down at the city. A red scar was cut through it, growing larger and larger by the moment, the fires taking more and more homes. The air was thick with screams and the sweet-rot smell of putrifying flesh. All around were corpses, naked and blackened, many mangled by the spear. And yet Hans did not find it becoming. Bit by bit, the flames subsided. Hans walked through the city, careful not to put too much weight on his contused leg.

Here, a few dying embers next to a dying man. There, a woman wandering, blind to her own missing hand, crying out desperately for her children. An ancient cathedral now crumbling, the stones collapsing inwards. And a young girl, one eye crudely bandaged, her shirt torn and shoulder criss-crossed with cuts. Hans tore a strip off his clothing and bandaged her cuts.

"Where's my mommy?" asked the girl.

Hans didn't have an answer. He gestured for her to follow.

She did.

It had been a long day.

A man came running up to Hans.

"Prince Hans!" said the man.

"You there! Find more people! Our first priority should be saving the wounded. Our second, stopping the fires," said Hans.

"No good, sir. They struck at our hospitals. We don't have any supplies left," said the man.

"Then the wounded?"

"Most of them won't make it."

"Okay. We'll have to make do with what we have."

"If you hadn't raised that army, we'd all be dead, sir."

"I was expecting something but not this."

"You still saved us."

"I have a little girl here."

"We can take care of her."

"Make it happen."

"Oh. Sir, I have something else to report. You may want to sit down."

"Waste of time. Give it to me straight."

"Your brothers were all in town for your father's birthday."

"And?"

"Many of them died in the first strike. One burned alive. Your father is dead. Your brothers are dead or presumed dead. I think... it is customary for me to wish you a long life, Your Majesty."

Hans blinked. Twice.

"I see. Try to find this girl's parents if you can. If not, find her lodgings. Rally the men and start preparing ships. The witch has shown her true colors. We have to counter-attack before she strikes again," said Hans.

He turned to the little girl.

"Don't worry, we'll find your parents. I'll take care of everything, okay?" said Hans, ruffling her hair.

"What if you don't find them?" asked the little girl.

"Then I'll think of something," said Hans.

* * *

"And if our actions are decided by a combination of our own mental states and previous events, then do we truly have free will? After all, it is self-evident that we do not control the external world in its entirety. The portion of our life dictated by will thus must be our mental state. But it is also self-evident that we often lose control of ourself. For instance, when we are very emotional, we do not have full control of our mind. Perhaps this is an illusion. But even then, one must find self-control of mind a questionable proposition at best.

Look further, and we must say that mind is a product of character. And what shapes character? Is it not events and persons pressing themselves upon our blank slate? Or, perhaps, it is the whirring of some mental clockwork. Then we are merely predictable machines. After all, one does not say the ship or the clock has a will. Either way, we are creatures wholly dependent on physical events derived from physical laws reaching back towards eternity. What are we but playthings of a final cause, little quirks in reality amplified manyfold? After all, all the causes of us are in turn caused. We look for a reason for evil men and find only the flapping of butterfly wings, which, in turn, are only the vibrations of a single dust mote in the cosmic ether aeons ago.

And yet I find, perhaps, an escape. If I would make a radical break with my creaturely character, then, maybe, I am more than some animal playing at freedom. I could arbitrarily kill myself, and in so doing, prove myself a chooser of my own fate. I could slip into madness, away from this despicably rational world."

Elsa sighed.

"But I cannot and will not. Thus, I am forced to live on," said Elsa.

"Elsa, you've got to be more confident," said Anna.

Elsa groaned.

"What's there to be confident about? I'll be Arendelle's last queen. It's all come crashing down around me," said Elsa.

"Oh, hush. You threw me a wonderful birthday party, you're pretty, you're smart, you're kind, and you're beautiful. You just need to see the bright side of yourself and practice some stuff," said Anna.

"Like what?" asked Elsa.

"Oh, like... like... like something to make you sound really sure of yourself! Like a catchphrase! I'm ICE COLD," said Anna.

"That's stupid," said Elsa.

"Don't run, Icy you," said Anna.

"No."

"Never underestimate the power of ice and snow?"

"No. Definitely not."

"Cooommeeeee ooonnnnnnn," said Anna, whining.

Elsa crossed her arms.

"You need to sound important! Like you know what you're doing! Arendelle needs someone to believe in, to rally around. I know you can do it. Arendelle needs you," said Anna.

"And what do catchphrases accomplish?" asked Elsa.

"I don't know. They're really n-ice. You're going to sound **so cool** when you chill someone. Get it? Chill someone? It's like a pun. A pun, Elsa!" said Anna.

Elsa groaned.

"Maybe a makeover too. The ice dress is great and all, but maybe something more... intimidating would help," said Anna.

"Whatever you say," said Elsa.

"Hooray!" said Anna.

Hans took a deep breath. The sky was crisply blue, and the ship bobbed gently in the waves.

"I've never been on a ship before! Are we really in the middle of the ocean?" asked Ragnhild.

"Well, we were, but now we're coming close to shore. Look, there's a dolphin breaching," said Hans.

"Ooooh! Pretty!"

A soldier approached.

"You stay here, okay? It won't be safe on shore, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt. In fact, you should go below-decks, back to your room. Things are going to get very bad soon, and people might get hurt. Got it Ragna?" said Hans.

"Got it!" said Ragna.

She ran down as fast as her stubby little legs could carry. Hans cleared his throat and addressed the soldier.

"Are the men ready?" asked Hans.

"Yes," said the soldier.

"Good. Strike hard. Leave none alive. Remember, we fight to avenge our home!" said Hans.

* * *

A lump formed in Anna's throat every time she thought of the letter-Kristoff's letter.

It couldn't be true. It had to be true. She didn't believe it.

Her pale, gentle fingers danced on the keys, playing his favorite song. He entered the room.

"Hey, are you playing music?" said Kristoff.

"Yeah, I've been practicing a lot. Does it sound good?" asked Anna.

"It sounds fantastic!" said Kristoff.

"Sit with me," said Anna.

"I'm sorry, I really have to be some-"

"Sit with me," insisted Anna, her big, sad eyes pleading with him.

He sat.

Anna continued her song, the lilting melody filling the room. She took Kristoff's hand and placed it on the keys, playing with his hand on hers. Her eyes began to water.

"Is something wrong?" asked Kristoff.

"No, it's nothing. This song is really emotional, is all," said Anna.

Kristoff stood and began to move away. Anna grabbed him.

"Stay. Please," said Anna.

"Clingy today, aren't you? I really nee-"

"I need you here with me. Don't you want to hear my next song? It's good, I promise," said Anna.

Kristoff sighed and sat down.

Anna began to play again, this time choosing a light, happy tune. It was over in just a few minutes.

"Alright, Anna, you've had your fun, but I have some busin-"

"Come ooonnnnn. We never spend any time together anymore," said Anna.

"We spend time together every day, what are you talking about?"

"But it's not enough, is it?"

"You're being silly."

"No, you're being silly!" shouted Anna.

"I'm just going to leave, okay?" said Kristoff.

Anna seized his leg. He began to drag her along the floor but quickly gave up.

Anna squealed in triumph.

"Now I play!" said Anna.

Kristoff watched, eyes slightly glazed over.

Anna played a number of tunes before falling back on "Mary had a Little Lamb". After five repetitions of that, she began to loop her songs again.

"You're just repeating yourself!" said Kristoff.

"Practice makes perfect," said Anna.

"You can practice on your own time," said Kristoff.

"No! No. Staaaaaaaaaay," said Kristoff.

Kristoff stood.

"Please, stay!" said Anna.

Kristoff took a step.

"I'm begging you!" said Anna, tears welling up in her eyes.

Kristoff went towards the door.

Anna drew a revolver and aimed at Kristoff. In an instant, he was down. Anna collapsed into a heap and began to sob.

Moments later, a cloaked man arrived. He checked Kristoff's pulse, smiled, and then shot him twice more through the heart. To be sure.

And then Anna was alone, in a quiet sobbing room.

* * *

"People of Arendelle! Just moments ago, rebels attempted to assassinate me-but I will not be bowed! Certain populations, minorities, were not pleased by current policy. They wanted special treatment; they shall not have it. We will continue to struggle together, because we must. Because, in these harsh times, it is important that we stick together. Unity is the only thing keeping our enemies at bay, is the only thing keeping us all alive!"

Elsa cleared her throat. The people looked at her expectantly. Her braid had been burnt off, and her neck was singed. The rest of her hair had been spiked up. Anna had told her that she looked like an onion now.

"I know you've suffered. But everyone is suffering. We must all suffer together if we are to make it through these challenges. Some people believed that their well-being was more important than that of the whole. They believed their suffering was unduly great when, in fact, we have all been under great stress. It is my dearest hope that the next harvest will come through and that peace shall return to Europe. Until then, we must make do with what we have. The assassins sent after me were socialist agitators. They believe that this is all the act of international capital and oligarchs. If that was the case, would I have nationalized the property of some of the richest people in Arendelle? The fact of the matter is that there is insufficient food. There is no hidden surplus. There is no deep, underlying injustice. It may be the case, is certainly the case that this is unjust. But there was no avoiding it. Sometimes bad things happen. Wasting our precious resources in a struggle against authority will not make things any better."

Church bells began ringing-then cannons rang.

"To arms!"

His instructions had been simple. Spare no one. Level the city.

They were carried out.

The city burned. To be quite frank, he could not bring himself to care.

He could have chosen not to attack. He had a crown now, though it was not the one planned on.

But something strange drove him on. Like a puppet, he danced on strings.

Onwards, forwards. He pressed further in. He was seeking the queen.

In the palace, they met. He locked eyes with her. They both understood, one way or another, things were at an end. Destiny had called them to this spot, for one perverse reason or another. Hans believed he was a man who made his own destiny. Perhaps he was wrong.

Perhaps he was. She struck him in the chest with ice magic; he ducked the next blast; he drew his sword; she stepped backwards; he sliced her across the chest; she staggered; her sister entered; he was shot in the gut; both sides retreat. He stumbled out of the palace, struggling to hold his intestines in.

Dies Irae.

Anna cradled Elsa in her arms. Her whole body shook from the force of her sobs. They were alone, the city was alive with the sounds of combat, and Elsa was bleeding profusely. Simple statements of fact, really. Elsa reached up to stroke Anna's hair.

"I'm so-"

Her apology was interrupted by her hacking coughs. Anna tried to help but didn't know how. Elsa held her hand to her wound.

"Was I doomed from the beginning?" asked Elsa.

"What?"

"I've been a fool," said Elsa, laughing. Her laughs were interrupted by more coughs.

Elsa groaned.

"Don't strain yourself!" said Anna.

"I'm not going to make it," said Elsa.

Anna blinked. Perhaps the thought had never occurred to her before. Perhaps the peculiarity of the whole situation had finally dawned on her. Perhaps her eyes were dry. The simplest explanations are often the best ones.

She only knew one thing.

"I've failed you," said Anna.

And it was true enough, from a given point of view.

Moments later, the palace was deluged by cannon.

* * *

Hans dragged himself back towards the landing. He could feel the ice creeping up through his body, expanding vein by vein, tearing flesh, piercing through skin, fractals spiraling their way through his body, patterns of white and blue etching themselves onto his body. He didn't scream. There was no point to it, and Hans did not believe in pointless things.

He was practical that way. It glossed over many of his other flaws, and they were many. Not that it really mattered at that point. Snowflakes were dancing in his vision. His eyes were freezing over.

At the very least, his hands were now, theoretically, free. There was something to be said about that. His intestines stayed in of their own volition, though he still clutched his gut. He never knew when something could go wrong. His plan should have worked the first time.

Which one? Well, all of them I suppose. But life plays cruel jokes sometimes.

Hans didn't laugh. He was a bit of a sourpuss that way. It was fine. His unfrozen flesh was blackening and dying. It was an unfortunate side effect of the cold.

The men rushed to hold as he limped back into camp.

"Somebody help him!" one shouted.

But what was there to do?

"Just. Win," said Hans, forcing the words out.

The soldiers were nervous. Who could blame them?

"What about you?" asked one. The poor, naïve fool.

He shook his head. Then he screamed. Then he screamed some more-rather silly after the first scream, everyone could hear how painful it was.

"The girl. She's mine," said Hans.

And no one could really ask him what he meant. You see, his body suddenly became quite warm. Blood and bits of organ leaked out of his abdomen. He looked down-in shock, probably-then fell over and stirred no more.

And so the little girl Ragna became queen of both Arendelle and the Southern Isles. That was satisfactory enough.

The End.

* * *

**Author Notes: **I've never really liked the "Dark" descriptor. Seems rather pointless. This story is a thing about something.

It's probably an allegory for Nintendogs.


End file.
